Jin's body felt like lead. Every muscle ached, his grip on the pipe stiff from exhaustion. But stopping wasn't an option.
His eyes flickered toward the exit door. It stood there, untouched, a flickering red glow casting long, eerie shadows across the ruined office floor.
They should leave. They should run.
But nobody moved.
Because running meant stepping into the unknown.
And right now, the unknown was worse than anything.
Jin exhaled sharply, pushing himself upright. "If we're staying, we're locking this place down."
No one argued.
They were too tired to argue.
Slowly, the group started dragging desks, chairs, and filing cabinets toward the entrances, forming makeshift barricades. The metal screeched against the floor, but no one complained.
Jin pushed a heavy desk forward, gritting his teeth as his ribs protested. The pain made him pause, but he ignored it. He had no choice but to keep going.
A quiet voice broke through the silence.
"…Do you think this will actually stop anything?"
Jin glanced up.
The man with the metal rod stood beside him, his hands gripping the weapon so tightly his knuckles had turned white. His eyes flickered toward the barricaded entrance, his breath shaky, uneven.
Jin didn't answer. Because he didn't know.
The man swallowed hard. His shoulders shook slightly. His grip on the rod loosened, then tightened again.
And then—he broke.
A sharp, bitter laugh slipped from his lips. His chest heaved, and suddenly, the tension in his body snapped.
"We're gonna die here, aren't we?" His voice wavered.
No one responded.
His breathing turned shaky, frantic. "I was supposed to go home. My kid's waiting for me. My—" He pressed his hands against his face, fingers digging into his skin. "I didn't even say goodbye this morning. I was in a rush—God, I didn't even—"
A ragged sob tore out of him.
The room fell into thick, suffocating silence.
Jin didn't move.
He should say something. He knew that. But what the hell was he supposed to say?
They were probably going to die here.
He swallowed the thought. Not yet.
Jin forced himself to look away, pushing another desk toward the barricade. The others followed without speaking.
No one had anything left to say.
The room was quiet.
Not peaceful. Not safe. Just quiet.
The only sound was the faint scraping of furniture as they finished blocking the exits, the weight of exhaustion settling over them like a suffocating blanket.
No one spoke.
No one knew what to say.
Jin leaned back against a desk, gripping his pipe loosely, his fingers stiff and aching. The metal felt colder now, heavier.
He let his head rest against the wall, closing his eyes for a brief second. Just a second. His body screamed for rest, but his mind refused to stop.
They had survived.
And now, for the first time, they had a chance to think.
That was the worst part.
Someone let out a quiet, bitter laugh. "This is insane."
Jin opened his eyes.
It was the man with the metal rod, sitting on the floor with his head tilted back, staring at the ceiling like he was expecting it to crack open and swallow them all whole.
"This is just like those movies, isn't it?" His voice was hoarse. Drained. "You wake up one morning, everything's normal, and then—" He waved his hand vaguely at the ruined office around them. "—boom. The world's ending. You're fighting monsters. And somehow, you have… powers."
His voice dropped.
"This isn't real. This can't be real."
Someone else let out a sharp breath. "Yeah? It sure as hell feels real."
Jin glanced around.
The others were sitting on the floor, backs against desks, bodies slumped in exhaustion. Their faces were pale, eyes hollow, a kind of emptiness settling into them.
The reality was sinking in. Fully.
A woman clenched her arms around herself. "This isn't some game. This isn't some fantasy. This is—" Her breath hitched. "This is our lives now."
The words settled heavy in the air.
Jin didn't react.
Because she was right.
A sniffle.
Then—a quiet, broken sob.
Jin's gaze flickered toward the sound.
A woman sat near the barricaded door, arms wrapped tightly around herself, shoulders trembling. Her face was turned down, hidden behind her hair, but the way her fingers curled into her sleeves—**like she was trying to hold herself together—**was enough.
"I have kids," she whispered.
The words hit like a hammer.
No one spoke.
She sucked in a sharp, uneven breath, her voice shaking. "My daughter—my son—they're at home, and I don't know if they're okay, and I—I don't even know if I'll ever see them again."
Her voice cracked. "What if they're alone? What if they're—"
She choked on the last word, unable to say it.
The man who had broken down earlier wiped his face with his sleeve, his voice raw and quiet. "I was supposed to pick up my son from daycare." He let out a shaky breath, hands curling into fists. "I didn't even say goodbye to him properly. What if—"
He stopped.
The silence stretched.
Jin felt it—that growing, overwhelming hatred creeping into the room.
Not toward the monsters. Not toward each other.
Toward the thing that did this.
"The system," someone muttered. "It's responsible for this."
A sharp inhale. A shuddering exhale.
"Then I hate it."
Jin's fingers twitched around the pipe.
Someone else whispered, "I want to know who made this happen."
"I want to know why."
"I want to tear it apart."
Jin didn't respond.
Because deep down, he felt the same way.
But anger wasn't going to help them.
Not now.
He exhaled, closing his eyes for a moment. Just a moment.
Then—
"You and that guy," a voice said suddenly.
Jin's eyes snapped open.
He turned his head.
One of the men was looking straight at him. "You and Echo," he said. His voice was steady, but there was something else beneath it. Something fragile.
"You're the only ones here who've actually… killed one of those things."
Jin didn't respond immediately.
The man's fingers tapped against his knee, his gaze flickering toward Echo's unconscious body. "Without you two, we'd all be dead."
Someone else nodded. "Yeah."
A pause.
Then—a single question.
"What's your skill?"
Jin's breath hitched.
His grip on the pipe tightened.
He didn't know why he hesitated.
Maybe it was because he still wasn't sure what it meant.
Maybe it was because he wasn't sure if it was enough.
But in the end, it didn't matter.
He pulled up his system screen.
A soft, blue light flickered in the air in front of him.
[Skill: Limitless Weapon Potential]
Jin stared at the words.
It didn't explain anything.
It didn't tell him what he was capable of.
"…I don't know exactly what it means," he admitted. "But… it seems like I'm good with weapons."
Silence.
Then someone snorted.
"You must've been lucky," a man muttered, shaking his head. "A dumb-sounding skill like that shouldn't be that useful."
Jin frowned. Lucky?
He thought about the way his body had moved on its own, how he had dodged, attacked, struck with an instinct he never had before.
Was that really luck?
Still…
He looked at his skill window again. Limitless Weapon Potential.
It didn't sound impressive.
He clenched his jaw.
Maybe it didn't matter.
As long as he tried, as long as he fought—that was enough.
Someone else let out a breath, glancing at Echo's unconscious form. "Well, whatever. At least that guy's skill makes sense. We're gonna have to depend on him."
The healer, still kneeling beside Echo, didn't even look up.
Jin watched as the faint blue glow flickered beneath her palms.
He nodded.
"…Yeah."
He exhaled, leaning his head back against the desk.
"I hope she fixes him up too."
For now, they weren't running.
But they weren't safe either.
And the worst part?
He had no idea what came next.